


The Metal Cage

by crackinthecup



Series: Ends and Beginnings [14]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Cages, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ruined Orgasms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:10:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23859562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackinthecup/pseuds/crackinthecup
Summary: In which Melkor decides to keep Mairon chaste for a few months and Mairon is not best pleased about it.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Series: Ends and Beginnings [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112774
Comments: 35
Kudos: 126





	1. Again and Again

**Author's Note:**

> Written by request for someone who'd like to remain anonymous!

The fire cast flickering shadows over the walls of the forge. Mairon pulled his thick work gloves on, mentally going over his plans for the evening. Other duties had kept him away from his forge for a long time, and he was looking forward to finishing the projects he had left abandoned.

He was about to thrust a half-finished dagger into the furnace when he felt Melkor’s power crackling over his skin.

“My lord,” he greeted as Melkor came in, smoothly keeping his annoyance at being interrupted out of his voice.

“I hoped to find you here,” Melkor said with a dazzling smile. “I’d like you to make something for me.”

“Of course, my lord.” It was rare for Melkor to commission him directly, and Mairon found himself smiling back, his annoyance instantly forgotten. “What did you have in mind?”

Melkor leaned across the workbench and handed him a diagram: a cage in a gently sloping shape made of seven connected rings of metal and ending in a slatted dome, with a hinged ring at the top and a padlock attaching the two together. It looked distinctly phallic in shape, and Mairon’s excitement curdled to suspicion.

“Could I ask what this is for?” It was not that Mairon could not guess what Melkor intended to do with the contraption; he just hoped that he was wrong.

Melkor smirked, and despite the heat of the forge Mairon shivered. “I’ll show you once you’ve made it.”

***

Between his other projects and his more administrative duties, it took Mairon several weeks to complete Melkor’s requested contraption; but eventually it was finished and now he found himself in Melkor’s chambers, watching as his master examined the shining silver cage.

“Well done, Mairon,” Melkor said, looking up at him from where he was sitting at his desk. “This will do nicely.”

Mairon smiled at the praise, though his eyes did not stray from Melkor’s fingers as he unlocked the cage’s padlock. Melkor had been evasive about his intended uses for the cage, and that never boded well. “I am pleased to have been of service, my lord. What do you intend to do with it?”

Melkor smirked in response, something cruel playing about the corners of his mouth, and it was only through force of will that Mairon did not recoil from him as he spoke: “Strip.”

Mairon’s heart sank. The command was simple enough, but awfully ominous in its intent. He thought about refusing, telling Melkor that he was not going to play his sadistic games, not this time. But as the seconds trickled by and his hesitation became starkly apparent, Melkor cocked an eyebrow at him in contempt, and Mairon gritted his teeth and began to undress as he had been told. He did not want to make things worse for himself.

“Good boy,” Melkor murmured, beckoning him closer, and even as he obeyed Mairon felt the heat rising in his cheeks.

He came to stand between Melkor’s parted thighs. For a short while Melkor set the metal cage aside, turning his full attention to Mairon; he ran his hands up Mairon’s sides to pluck at his nipples, teasing him until his breath came quick and eager from behind his teeth.

Mairon reached out a hand to steady himself against the desk as Melkor’s fingers dipped down to brush over his cock in light little touches. His hips pressed forwards into Melkor’s hand of their own accord, and for one glorious moment Melkor indulged him. He gripped him firmly, sliding his thumb over his tip, and Mairon was so distracted by the bright pleasure of it that he did not notice what Melkor was doing until he felt the touch of cold metal against his cock.

“My lord –” he began in protest, but Melkor was already fitting the ring behind his bollocks. It snapped shut around the base of his cock, and Melkor then guided him into the cage, attaching it to the ring with the padlock and locking it shut.

“Now, Mairon, we’re going to play a little game.” Melkor pocketed the key and looked up at him with a sadistic gleam in his eyes that made Mairon squirm in both desire and apprehension. “You’re going to wear this for me till I see fit to release you.”

It was with some effort that Mairon swallowed down the noise of horror brimming in his throat. He felt more than a little uneasy with Melkor having utter control over his arousal, and though the cage did not hurt him, he did not want to imagine what it would feel like if he got hard.

“How long, my lord?” he asked miserably.

“That depends on your behaviour.”

Mairon gasped as Melkor worked a finger through the gaps in the cage, stroking over the tip of his cock.

“My – _ah_ – my behaviour?”

Melkor threw him a wicked look that made his knees weak, then abruptly stopped touching him and turned back to the sheaves of parchment on his desk.

“You need to be a good little lieutenant for me if you ever want to come again,” Melkor told him matter-of-factly, then without looking up he flicked a wrist in his direction to signal his dismissal.

***

Melkor kept him locked away for _months_.

Initially Mairon thought his master unusually lenient: for the most part he could ignore the cage around his cock and get on with his duties. But as days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months, the enforced absence of intimacy started to direct his thoughts away from the running of the fortress. At his desk or in the forge or even, mortifyingly, in meetings, he would catch himself thinking of Melkor’s hands on him, touching him, hurting him, adoring him, doing a million thoughtless little things that were now denied to him.

With alarming regularity his blood would rush downwards, flesh would swell and stiffen, and the metal cage would become painfully tight around his cock. He could do nothing to relieve that infernal pressure. If he attempted to adjust the cage, every touch of his fingers against his swollen flesh only set arousal pounding that much more insistently through him. He could only wait for desire to give way to endless, simmering frustration; it settled in his belly like a physical ache, and with each passing day it became harder to ignore.

So it was that one day he found himself in the throne room, paying only minimal attention to the words coming out of his mouth as he rattled off his weekly report to his master. His mind was preoccupied with other things, entirely inappropriate things that involved him being bent over the throne. The frustration that had swirled within him for months reached a sudden peak at Melkor’s proximity, and he did not bother trying to block out his fantasies. What good would it do, anyway? The thoughts would only creep back in the dead of night like lustful ghosts come to torment him in his bed, and that was the worst time of all.

With a start he realised that Melkor was watching him with a suspiciously knowing glint in his eye.

“You seem distracted, Mairon,” Melkor said, slowly uncrossing his legs and splaying his thighs far wider than such a professional encounter would require. “Is anything the matter?”

Mairon swallowed against the sudden dryness of his mouth. It was easy bait, but he fell for it and he fell hard. Perhaps if his cock was not already stirring in its cage, he might have chosen a different course of action, but as it was, he decided to tell Melkor the truth.

“It’s been so long that I’ve worn this cage, my lord. It’s… frustrating.”

Melkor chuckled, soft and mocking, and any hope Mairon might have had of being released crumbled. “That was rather the point, Mairon.”

“Please, my lord,” Mairon pleaded, the words falling from his lips before he could stop them. “Please could you remove it? I... I’ve been _good_. I’ve obeyed you in everything you’ve asked of me.”

“Oh, Mairon,” Melkor murmured, and he smiled as if this was the only thing he had ever wanted to hear. “Begging already? Do you truly crave my touch so much?”

And though it was humiliating, though it made Mairon’s cheeks burn with shame, he nodded, one tight, quick motion of the head.

The silence that fell was hungry, malevolent. Mairon cast his eyes to the marble beneath his feet, suddenly uncomfortable with the way Melkor’s gaze seemed to burn straight through him. After a few moments Melkor stirred, clicking his tongue at him in displeasure, and Mairon flinched as though he had been struck.

“You’ll have to be more convincing than that.”

Mairon opened his mouth, a dozen lewd entreaties racing through his mind, then closed it again. He was so far beyond pride that a part of him wanted to give up on this whole endeavour, retreat to his chambers and continue wearing his cage till Melkor had a change of heart or the very lands around them fell into ruin, whichever came first. But his cock was aching within its cage, heavy and swollen with impotent arousal, and it loosed his tongue.

“I can please you, my lord,” he said softly, falteringly. “I’ll do anything you want. Please. I… I want you, my lord.”

Melkor gave him a beatific smile. “That’s more like it. Take your clothes off for me.”

Mairon blinked at him, not entirely sure he had heard him right. Though the throne room was empty, the great doors leading to Angband’s twisting corridors were standing wide open. “Here, my lord?”

“I suggest you make this quick.”

Mairon undressed himself with inhuman speed. He instinctively drew closer to the throne as if it could somehow conceal his nakedness if anyone were to walk in, and Melkor pulled him down across his lap. Craning his neck, Mairon stared at the open doorway as Melkor unlaced his own breeches.

Once he had stroked himself to full hardness, Melkor took Mairon by the chin, shifting his attention back to him. “Go on, then.”

Mairon spread his thighs a little wider about Melkor’s waist, feeling his cock slide over the curve of his arse. “Have you got any oil, my lord?”

“A needy little thing like you has no need for oil.” Melkor emphasised his point by slipping his thumb into the cage’s slatted dome, gliding over the head of Mairon’s cock and the wetness pooling there; he lifted his hand to Mairon’s face, smearing his pre-come over his lips, letting him taste himself. “This is all the lubrication you’re going to get.”

With a shuddering exhale, Mairon worked a finger between the bars of the cage. Over and over he dipped his fingers in his own fluids, countless little touches over swollen, sensitive flesh that left him wincing. Once he had gathered enough moisture, he reached behind himself and slicked Melkor’s cock up, then started pressing himself down. He bit the inside of his cheek to silence a groan of pain as the head of Melkor’s cock breached him, his muscles protesting at being stretched too wide, too soon.

Melkor gave him a moment to adjust. He cupped his cheek, pressing a deep kiss to his lips, kneading his hip in encouragement as Mairon sank down lower on his cock with a soft noise of discomfort.

“No complaining, little one. You asked for this.”

Mairon nodded, nipping at Melkor’s lower lip in an effort to distract himself as he forced himself to take his master down to the hilt. He panted with the fullness of Melkor’s cock inside of him, the ache and the burn of it, and Melkor grinned against his lips and spurred him into movement with a firm grip on his hips.

Mairon set a quick rhythm, rolling his hips atop his master, throwing himself into it with as much fervour as he could muster. He knew what Melkor enjoyed and he used it to his advantage, slipping his arms around his neck, bowing his head upon his shoulder and moaning as loudly as he dared with the doors standing wide open. If he managed to make Melkor enjoy himself, then perhaps he would release him from his cage, perhaps he would finally touch him, take him in hand and stroke him until he fell apart.

The pain of the initial stretch had faded. There was nothing but blazing, blinding pleasure as Melkor’s cock nudged against his prostate on every thrust, and Mairon was so lost in it that he hardly realised he was already close to his peak after long months of abstinence. His rhythm faltered and he came to a stop, desire coiling so tightly in his stomach that a single touch would have pushed him over the edge.

“My lord, I - I’m going to –”

Melkor’s hand shot downwards to grip cruelly hard around Mairon’s bollocks. Mairon choked, the pain of it rippling through him like a shockwave, and his impending orgasm slowly receded. Once he had regained some composure, he squirmed in discomfort, trying to get Melkor to loosen his grip, but Melkor would not budge.

Instead he twisted Mairon’s bollocks in his hand until Mairon cried out, keeping him in place as he started thrusting up inside of him. The pleasure was dim and distant now, overshadowed by the agony of Melkor’s hold on him, and Mairon simply gritted his teeth and tried to keep his breathing even. It did not take long for Melkor to come, spilling deep inside of him, and in the stillness that followed Mairon could only hope that Melkor was satisfied.

But that hope was mercilessly shattered. Melkor roughly pushed him away, and it was all he could do to blink back tears of dark, hurting frustration as he got to his feet. He opened his mouth to speak, to plead his case – he had done all that Melkor had asked of him, he had played by his master’s rules in this sordid game of his – but Melkor cut him off.

“Put your clothes back on.”  
  
“That’s not fair,” Mairon began but at the flash of anger in Melkor’s eyes he subsided into silence.  
  
“I decide what is or isn’t fair, Mairon,” Melkor snapped and something cruel crept into his voice. “Do you truly think you have earned your release? You asked to please me and I graciously allowed it, but you couldn’t control your pathetic little desires long enough to get the job done. It wasn’t good enough.”

And with that Melkor arose from his throne, sweeping past Mairon still standing there naked and hurting with thwarted arousal, his cock swollen and tinged purple within its cage.  
  
***  
  
It was several more weeks before he saw Melkor again outside his professional duties.

With arousal ceaselessly tingling in his belly, time seemed to crawl by painfully slowly and it was nothing short of torture. Countless nights found him lonely and impossibly aroused in his bed, and he tried to grind himself against the sheets. Though he was not yet so desperate that he would outright disobey his master, he thought that some mild stimulation might take the edge off, at least for a little while, but he was sorely mistaken. With every fruitless thrust against his sheets, the cage dragged painfully at his skin, his bollocks hung heavy and swollen and purple, and impossibly, infuriatingly, he only succeeded in making his cock stiffen all the more. Those nights he buried his face in his pillows and simply screamed in frustration.

At last Melkor summoned him to his chambers. Mairon went with a heavy heart, not quite sure what to expect, not knowing whether or not Melkor’s sadistic mood had blown over. Despite himself, his heart skipped a beat when Melkor invited him through to the bedroom, seemingly eager to do away with any preambles.

A fire was crackling in the hearth, bathing the room in a warm glow, and at the soft, inviting smile on Melkor’s lips Mairon simply melted. He let his master guide him backwards upon the bed, he let him strip him naked and tie his arms to the headboard. Melkor’s hands on him were tender yet purposeful, and with every touch the frustration of the past few months seemed to fade away.

Melkor unlocked the padlock, removing the cage and unclasping the ring at his base, and Mairon’s erection sprang upwards towards his belly. The force of his desire nearly knocked the breath from his lungs as Melkor traced a finger over his cock, over veins left throbbing and swollen.

“You’ve been so good, so chaste for me,” Melkor murmured, his fingers dipping down to cup his bollocks, giving him a gentle squeeze that made Mairon’s vision blur at the edges. “I think you deserve a treat.”  
  
“Yes, my lord, please...”  
  
“But you’re not allowed to come.”  
  
An animalistic groan of frustration ripped out of Mairon’s throat. “It’s been _so long_ , my lord, please, please let me come, just once, I… I can’t, I just can’t keep doing this…” He was grovelling, he knew that much, but he didn’t care; he would have said anything just to get Melkor to take mercy on him.

“Well,” Melkor laughed, slowly tracing the flared rim of his head and grinning when Mairon’s hips bucked at his touch, “prove to me that you have some self-control and I might let you come afterwards.”

Mairon felt so grateful that it sickened him. He nodded eagerly, spreading his legs wide as Melkor settled between them. Finally, _finally_ Melkor took him in hand and stroked him slowly, lightly, the slightest brush of skin over his aching cock, drawing a loud moan from Mairon’s lips. After months without any sort of intimacy, his cock was so sensitive that he thought the sensation might rip him apart, and he panted as Melkor continued, he rolled his hips into his master’s hand and incoherently begged him not to stop.  
  
“My, my, we are needy,” Melkor practically cooed at him, bending down to press a kiss against the tip of his cock.

With a smug smile Melkor took him into his mouth, just his very tip, hollowing his cheeks until Mairon cried out with the liquid pleasure flowing through him. He made to thrust himself deeper into Melkor’s mouth, but Melkor gripped his hips and held him down. Mairon made a noise caught somewhere between irritation and paralysing arousal, and he tossed his head back as he simply lost himself in the glorious sensations between his legs.

A few moments later his eyes flew open. His pleasure curdled to icy horror as he felt that tell-tale clench of muscles, as with a split second to spare he realised that he was going to come and that there was nothing at all he could do about it.

Melkor instantly withdrew from him as his orgasm gripped him. He spurted his seed up onto his stomach, the pleasure of it dull and disappointing in the absence of Melkor’s touch.

Once his limbs had stopped trembling, Mairon forced himself to look at his master. “I’m so sorry, my lord. It just happened, it came out of the blue, I couldn’t do anything, I...”  
  
He trailed off when he noticed the expression on Melkor’s face. He didn’t seem mad; he seemed _delighted_ , and that was so much worse.  
  
Abruptly Melkor got off the bed and went to rummage in one of the drawers lining the walls of the room. Mairon craned his neck to see what Melkor was doing, and at the sight of the riding crop in his hands his stomach dropped.  
  
“No, my lord,” he began weakly, shivering at the hunger in Melkor’s smile as he returned and began tying his knees to either side of the bed so he could not close his legs. “I didn’t mean to come, I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_!”

Melkor sat down between his thighs, looking down at him all spread and helpless with blood-curdling glee in his eyes.

“Oh, I’ll make sure you’re sorry,” Melkor said, and that was all the warning Mairon got before the riding crop came down over his cock with a resounding thwack.

In truth it was not a very hard blow, but against flesh left oversensitive by his orgasm the pain was blinding. Melkor continued in silence, coldly ignoring his pleading as he whipped his cock and bollocks, leaving enough time between the blows for Mairon to draw in a shaky breath and tense in horrible anticipation.

Mairon could not remember when his pleas had given way to screaming. The hurt of the riding crop was like fire ripping through his pelvis, and he could do little more than react with the clockwork simplicity of animal impulse: fighting against unyielding knots to draw his thighs together until the rope rubbed his skin raw, screwing his eyes shut as unbidden tears slid down his cheeks.  
  
Mairon felt bruised down to the bone when Melkor finally set the riding crop aside. He kept his eyes closed, breathing hard, willing the pain to fade away. The touch of metal against his cock brought him up short, and he flinched violently as fresh discomfort throbbed through him at the chill of it.

“My lord?”  
  
Melkor looked up at him, reaching out a hand to wipe away his tears. “You’re going back in the cage. As I said, your release depends on good behaviour, of which there was painfully little tonight.”

There was something harsh in the lines of Melkor’s face, his smile was too cruel, and Mairon knew better than to argue; bitter experience had taught him that there was nothing he could do to change Melkor’s mind when he was in the grip of such a fey mood.

He set his mouth in a thin line as Melkor fitted the ring around his base and forced his sore cock into the cage. He could wait, weeks, months, however long it took; he would wait, and maybe then Melkor’s mood would mellow, maybe he would finally show him a modicum of affection.

But Melkor was not done with him yet. His master undid the ropes binding him to the bed, and where he expected Melkor to dismiss him, he found himself roughly pushed onto his side. Melkor positioned himself behind him, chest pressed flush against his naked back. He felt the slide of Melkor’s well-slicked cock over his arse, felt the breathtaking stretch as Melkor pushed into him to the hilt in one rough thrust.

Melkor quickly found his rhythm, fucking him hard and deep. He seemed fascinated with Mairon’s bollocks, reaching around to cup them in his hand, squeezing his tender, purpling flesh until he gasped and shivered helplessly with the hurt of it.

Despite his earlier orgasm, Mairon could feel himself stiffening again, his cock swelling until the cage bit painfully into his bruised skin. It all merged together into one tangle of sensation, the tightness of the cage around his length, the aching fullness of Melkor’s cock inside of him; it was too much, far too much, and this time he was all too keenly aware of his climax spiralling closer, but chose not to pull himself back from the edge.

He came, a quick, unsatisfying orgasm that left frustration roiling and writhing in his stomach with redoubled potency, and he could only lie there and spread himself for Melkor’s pleasure as his cock twitched and dribbled uselessly in its cage.


	2. Repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a few requests for a sequel to Mairon's foray into chastity play, so here it is - enjoy, sinners!

The room was dark save for a brazier in its centre. It cast a red, flickering light over the shelves lining the walls. Blades and pliers, cuffs and gags and countless other implements gleamed in the shadows like dozens of predatory eyes. It was an intimidation tactic used throughout Angband’s dungeons, and despite his familiarity with it, Mairon was ashamed to admit that it worked on him just as well as if he were a prisoner.

From where he was bent over a bench, he watched Melkor examining the implements on the shelves with no small amount of trepidation. He had not quite managed to refuse Melkor when, after long hours spent talking and drinking, his master had flirtatiously suggested that they descend into Angband’s dungeons.

In truth, and against his better judgement, Mairon was hoping for leniency from Melkor. He had spent the past few months locked away in his chastity cage at his master’s command, and the frustration had built and intensified to a maddening peak; these days, even the slightest touch from Melkor would set arousal pounding through him with such intensity that he wanted to scream.

Even now, stripped naked and bound hand and foot to the bench as he was, his cock was already stiffening within its cage at the sight of Melkor inspecting increasingly more hellish instruments of torture. A visit to the dungeons never foretold anything gentle, but there were a lot of things Mairon would have been willing to endure for the chance to come. He squirmed in his bonds, trying and failing to dislodge that infernal cage. Melkor had devised a new addition to it, a hollow metal tube capped at one end that could attach to the cage’s dome. The tube fit snugly inside Mairon’s cock, and with each twitch of his swollen flesh he became acutely aware of its alien, delectable pressure deep inside of him.

He moaned with the sensation, and Melkor turned towards him at the sudden sound. Something silver glinted in Melkor’s hand, but he slipped it within his robes before Mairon could get a better look.

“Impatient?” Melkor asked, his tone light but mocking.

Mairon turned his face away as Melkor strode around the bench to stand behind him. His cheeks were already splotched a bright shade of red from the humiliating position he was in: wrists cuffed to either side of his head and ankles tied to the legs of the bench, forcing his thighs to spread wide. But he pushed past his shame. He ignored the rising colour in his cheeks, he ignored the slight tremble in his voice, and he begged; he knew just how much Melkor liked it when he begged.

“Could you please remove the cage, my lord? Please –”

Whatever else he was going to say was lost in a moan of both pleasure and pain as Melkor reached between his legs and took his bollocks in hand, none too gently.

“Remove the cage? I think not,” Melkor said, voice soft and so horribly intimate, as though he had him spread and wanting beneath him in his bed rather than shackled to a bench in the dungeons. 

“But why, my lord?” Mairon spluttered indignantly; his frustration had made him bold. “It’s been _months_ , you said you would remove it if I behaved and I _have_. There has been no fault in any of the tasks I have done for you.”

Melkor laughed, still soft but something sly had crept into his tone, something that made Mairon shiver. “Is that what you think this is about? No, Mairon, your discharge of your professional duties has been admirable as always. It is your performance in other areas that has been… disappointing.”

“I… I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Don’t you?” Melkor tightened his hold on his bollocks, fitting a thick metal band around their base and snapping it shut. “There’s no need to play coy, Mairon. I know what you’ve done. I know you tried to touch yourself.”

Mairon drew in a sharp breath. His first instinct was to lie, to deny it, but he bit the inside of his cheek and forced himself to remain quiet. He did not dare think how Melkor had come by such knowledge, but he knew better than to try to argue his case when his master’s mind was already set on punishment. Besides, it would be deserved. He rued it bitterly now, but a few nights ago, after Melkor had used him and left him aching and unspent, he had retreated to his chambers, he had tried to slip his fingers through the bars of the cage and stroke himself to completion. It had not worked, but that did not seem to matter now.

Melkor scoffed at his silence. “The cage means that I own you, Mairon. It means that you are not allowed to touch yourself without my permission. Perhaps this will encourage you to think twice before disobeying me again.”

And with that, Melkor attached a heavy metal weight to the cuff around his bollocks, letting it dangle between his spread thighs. Mairon cried out, and it was through force of will alone that he remained motionless as every muscle screamed at him to struggle against the ropes securing him to the bench, to get away from that awful weight. His skin was stretched painfully taut, his bollocks tight and purpling within the metal cuff, and it felt like the slightest movement would set the weight swaying and rip his bollocks from his body.

Melkor slapped him upon the arse, hard. Mairon flinched, setting the weight swinging, and sudden nausea brimmed in his stomach at the agony of it. He pressed his cheek to the cool surface of the bench, forcing himself to breathe. He had endured worse than this, he told himself. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, maybe his master wouldn’t hurt him too much, maybe once he was done with him Melkor would allow him to come.

He tried to convince himself that the price for an orgasm would be worth it.

Melkor trailed his fingers over the curve of his arse, dipping down to trace over his entrance.

“That said, I am not an unjust lord,” Melkor continued, pressing against his entrance that little bit more insistently, the tip of one finger slipping in even without lubrication. “You have one last chance to redeem yourself, Mairon. I expect to see some self-restraint from you and if I do, I will consider removing the cage. If I don’t, well… let’s just say that the repercussions would be far from pleasant.”

Mairon breathed slowly, in and out, in and out. He closed his eyes, steeling himself. He could do this. “I will not disappoint you again, my lord.”

Melkor chuckled, pleased with his response, then tipped a vial of oil over his entrance. Mairon moaned as his master glided one finger and then another through the oil, sinking knuckle-deep inside of him, deftly finding his prostate. Heat pooled in his belly with every push and pull of Melkor’s fingers, and he pressed his forehead hard into the bench. The discomfort cut through the pleasure steadily building between his legs, but too little, too little. It was perverse, it was _exquisite_ : the aching pull on his bollocks, the warm pleasure of Melkor’s fingers inside of him never faltering in their breathtaking rhythm.

Mairon bit his lip, drawing blood, wildly trying to get his mind to settle on something else. Reports, troop numbers, food supplies, anything but this; but his thoughts were faint and aimless, swirling away from him as desire burned ever more brightly within him.

Melkor paused for a moment, and Mairon sucked in a few desperate breaths to steady himself. But then Melkor was pouring more oil over him, twisting a third finger inside of him and then a fourth, and Mairon cursed loudly and involuntarily pushed his hips back against Melkor’s fingers. The stretch was delicious, dulling all other sensations until Mairon barely registered the weight yanking on his bollocks or the cage digging into the swollen flesh of his cock.

He tried not to come, he truly did. But Melkor made him feel so full, light was bursting behind his eyelids with every touch against his prostate, and he realised what was about to happen a second too late to do anything about it. He came, cock straining against the cage, seed spurting up through the hollow metal tube and forcing its way past its cap in weak dribbles. Melkor had stopped touching him at the first hint of his orgasm, and in the absence of stimulation his pleasure was ruined; his muscles twitched feebly, his afterglow replaced by a hollow feeling in his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a horrified whisper. “I… I didn’t mean it –”

“Pathetic,” Melkor sneered, abruptly stalking away from him towards one of the shelves.

Mairon subsided into miserable silence. Long years in his master’s service had taught him that neither pleas nor apologies would help him here. Melkor had no tolerance for disobedience, meting out punishment to lord and slave alike, and Mairon knew all too well that he was not exempt from it. He could only hope that Melkor might bring himself to take pity on him afterwards and remove the cage, at least for a short while.

But such tender hopes withered and died at the sight of Melkor turning back to him with a riding crop in hand, eyes narrowed as he appraised him with cool, calculated cruelty. Mairon’s heart seemed to lodge itself in his throat as Melkor rounded the bench to stand behind him once more. His bollocks hung heavy and swollen between his legs, dragged down by the weight, and he wanted to be sick as he imagined how much a blow from the riding crop would hurt.

“My lord, please,” Mairon begged, the words falling from his lips before he could stop them; he knew it was useless, he knew that he would be better off saving his breath, but such rational thoughts scattered as panic gripped him. “Please don’t do this.”

“Be quiet,” Melkor growled, giving him a warning strike to the bollocks that left Mairon gagging with the horrific pain of it. “You brought this on yourself, Mairon, and you are going to lie there and take it like a good boy. Otherwise I promise you that you will not be able to sit down anytime this century.”

Mairon nodded frantically. He would be all right, he told himself, over and over again like a mantra; Melkor wouldn’t hurt him, not truly, not too much.

But he knew in his heart that he was lying to himself.

Melkor hit him again, hard, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs so he couldn’t even scream. Over and over the whip struck him, each brutal blow delivered with cruel precision, turning his bollocks a deep shade of purple. The weight was swinging wildly between his thighs, and it tugged on his bollocks so sharply that Mairon would have ripped them off himself if only to make the agony of it stop. He tried to breathe, to count the seconds, to run through the latest armament numbers in his mind. Nothing worked. As the minutes trickled by, he screamed and he writhed and he hurt, a hurt that began in his bollocks and shot out through his pelvis with gut-wrenching intensity.

Instinctively he tried to curl his hips inwards, away from the merciless blows of the riding crop. He did not get far with the bench keeping him in place, but Melkor noticed the movement and Mairon did not need to see his face to know that he was not pleased with that small act of disobedience. The temperature in the room seemed to drop as Melkor discarded the riding crop with an irritated sigh and reached for something on a nearby shelf.

Cold, slick metal suddenly pressed at Mairon’s entrance. It was large and spherical in shape, attached to a handle that curved upwards and ended in a small loop. Mairon flinched, involuntarily tensing against the chill of it, but Melkor was relentless. He forced the metal sphere through his straining muscles until it settled deep inside of him. To his horror, Mairon then felt his master fiddling with the handle, each small motion making the sphere nudge uncomfortably into his inner walls. Melkor tied a length of rope to the handle’s loop, attaching it to a hook in the ceiling so that Mairon’s hips were pulled inexorably upwards: his back forced to arch, his bollocks left horrifyingly exposed.

Mairon groaned with the strain of his new position. He experimentally shifted his hips, but there was no way for him to dislodge the hook inside of him. With a rough push Melkor forced it deeper still, and it settled its unyielding pressure against his prostate. Sudden pleasure sparked in Mairon’s belly, but it was nowhere near enough to make the pain in his bollocks enjoyable. It merely stirred the embers of his arousal to new fire, setting his cock twitching within its cage, impotent and neglected.

But Melkor was not done with him.

“Oh, this will be _fun_ ,” Melkor murmured, half to himself. Ignoring Mairon’s whine of protest, he clipped a wooden peg to the innermost skin of his thigh, followed by another and then another.

The pinch of the pegs was uncomfortable but hardly unbearable, and Mairon wondered what Melkor could possibly want with them as his master continued attaching pegs to him, down his thighs and over his arse. But then a peg scraped over the tender, throbbing flesh of his bollocks, and Mairon’s wary curiosity curdled to dread.

“Not there, my lord, please,” he pleaded, voice strained with barely contained hysteria. “It hurts too much.”

“This is punishment, Mairon,” Melkor snapped at him, speaking over his shrieks as he clipped five pegs to each of his bollocks. “It is supposed to be unpleasant.”

The pain was breathtaking. Cold sweat broke out over Mairon’s skin and he panted, he whimpered, undignified little noises slipping over his lips beyond his conscious awareness. 

He did not notice Melkor picking up the riding crop again until it struck one of the pegs on his thigh. The peg ripped off in a blinding burst of pain, and Mairon’s stomach dropped as he realised the full, appalling extent of what Melkor intended. Slowly, with shocking cruelty, Melkor continued, striking off peg after peg until Mairon was _howling_. The pegs left his skin raised in angry, crimson welts, the throbbing ache of one bleeding into the sharp pain of the next bleeding into the obscene, feverish heat that spread over his arse and thighs.

At last, Melkor turned to the pegs on his bollocks. Mairon could not tell where the pain ended and the rest of him began. He could not scream anymore; he could only sob, hot, heavy tears rolling down his cheeks as he prayed for it to end. Orgasm was the furthest thing from his mind even as the hook inside of him dug into his prostate, even as his cock throbbed against the bars of its cage with the vestiges of his arousal.

It lasted for what seemed like an agonising eternity, but eventually it was over. The pain receded, slowly, gradually, becoming more bearable. Mairon took a few gulps of air, trying to calm himself. It felt like his bollocks had been flayed. They hung between his legs all raw and hurting and purple with trauma. If Melkor had intended to torture him, he could not have done a more thorough job.

Melkor rounded the bench to stand by his head. Mairon barely registered his presence until fingers traced over his cheeks, wiping away his tears.

“You’re so pretty when you cry,” Melkor told him. At the smile in his voice, something in Mairon’s stomach seemed to twist, perverse desire crashing through him with breathtaking force, and he moaned as he nuzzled his face into Melkor’s hand.

“Please, my lord,” he said, his abused vocal cords unable to produce anything more than a gravelly whisper. “Please could you touch me? Please…”

He tried to say something else, something more, to beg in all the degrading ways he knew Melkor expected of him, but the words refused to come. The hurt of the riding crop had sunk into his very bones, peeling him away in layer after layer until nothing was left except this burning need, and he could only whine wordlessly before his master.

“No,” Melkor said gently, almost lovingly, “you don’t deserve my touch.”

“ _Please_ ,” Mairon begged, hurting and desperate, blinking back a fresh wave of tears as his frustration seemed to cleave him apart.

Melkor began walking back to the other end of the bench, trailing his fingers down his spine as he went, making him shiver.

“Very well,” he said eventually, coming to stand behind him once more. “You may have one orgasm, little one.”

“Oh, _thank_ you –”

“If you can, that is.”

Mairon twisted around as much as he could, looking at Melkor in confusion. “What do you mean, my lord?”

But Melkor did not reply. With a beatific smile that seemed out of place amid the horrors of the dungeons, he reached between Mairon’s spread thighs and removed the hollow tube plugging his cock. Mairon groaned loudly as it left his body; the relief of being free of that awful tube was so potent that it left him lightheaded.

He hoped that Melkor would remove the cage entirely, would free him from the weight tugging on his bollocks and the hook still buried deep inside of him, but he was sorely mistaken. Melkor took up the riding crop again, brushing it over his bruised bollocks, and Mairon grunted as even that gentle touch seemed to set fire to his abused nerve endings.

“My lord…” he began weakly, but his horror struck him dumb; he did not know what he could possibly say to dissuade Melkor from whatever further atrocity he had contrived.

“Hush, little one,” Melkor said, starting to tap the leather thong of the riding crop against his bollocks in a gentle rhythm. “I suggest you relax and enjoy yourself. You’re not getting another chance to come for a good long while after this.”

Mairon let out a shaky sigh. Melkor’s control over something as primal as his arousal was a violation, yet another boundary eroded as Melkor sought to take and to break, to dominate, to possess. Mairon would have never admitted it, but it set such wild, aching, _exquisite_ desire simmering within him that it took his breath away.

He let his eyes drift shut, focusing on the little touches of the riding crop against his bollocks. It did not hurt, but against flesh left tender and purple with bruises, the sensation was intense almost beyond endurance. He moaned, loud and animalistic, pushing his hips backwards so the hook inside of him dug firmly into his prostate. He was debasing himself, he knew that much, but in that moment he simply did not care. The steady tapping of the crop against his bollocks, the hook prodding against his prostate, the constricting pressure of the cage around his aching cock – it all melded together into pure, white-hot sensation, and it undid him, it ripped him apart.

His orgasm came too quickly, too slowly; he could not tell anymore. The pleasure stripped him down to quivering muscles and a wildly beating heart, all at once too much and perfect in its intoxicating intensity. He screamed as he came, cock pulsing within its cage, shooting thick strands of seed over the floor.

It felt like hours later when the tension eventually drained from him, leaving him limp and nearly insensate. His heartbeat was unnaturally loud in his ears. He began to shiver, but whether from cold or overstimulation he could not tell. There was no strength left in him to move or protest as Melkor slid the hollow metal tube back inside his cock.

“I hope that was worth it,” Melkor said from somewhere behind him, busying himself with removing the weight and the metal cuff from around his bollocks and slipping the hook out of him.

Mairon could only manage a noncommittal grunt in response. He let Melkor untie him, let him guide him to his feet and pull him into his arms. The echoes of his pleasure were still glowing within him, making everything seem fuzzy and surreal.

Melkor withdrew from the embrace and smiled down at him, soft and indulgent as he tended to be after a particularly brutal punishment; Mairon could not help thinking that he looked beautiful.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Melkor said, starting to move towards the door as Mairon put his clothes back on.

Mairon privately thought it was the best idea he had had all evening.


	3. Under Lock and Key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to turn this fic into a trilogy of sorts when the person who initially requested it said that they wanted Mairon to be ruined a few more times, so here it is, exactly what it says on the tin! Hope you enjoy!

The wind howled among the peaks of the Ered Engrin, and even from within the warmth of Melkor’s chambers Mairon could hear it. A storm was coming, a thing of evil and pestilence concocted by his master. Mairon smiled as he leaned back in his chair with a glass of wine. There were whispers of an alliance of elves and men and dwarves in the wide lands of Beleriand, whispers that had eventually made their way to Melkor’s ears.

Presumptuous, he and his master had thought it; a misguided grasp for power by Fëanor’s upstart sons that was doomed to end in ruin like all their endeavours upon these shores. Still, the wheels of Angband had been set into motion at the news. All the better if they could spare themselves the costs and casualties of a protracted war.

Melkor had immersed himself in his schemes with intense focus: entertaining guests from among the chieftains of the Easterlings, reasserting alliances, preparing a plague that would creep across the Anfauglith and strike down the forces of the Edain with deadly sickness. Mairon had not been idle either. He had set himself to the task of ensuring that the fortress was prepared for any assault that might come their way. It felt like he had spent an eternity tackling one challenge after another, from overseeing the forging of fresh stocks of weaponry to implementing long overdue repairs to Angband’s exterior fortifications.

So it was that when Melkor invited him to his chambers one evening, Mairon gratefully accepted. He had not had a chance to unwind in weeks, and now, after food and several generous glasses of wine, the nearly constant tension in his shoulders finally dissipated.

Melkor was explaining the biological intricacies of the pestilence he had created. Though Mairon did not entirely understand some of the concepts, he contented himself to simply listen. There was a certain light in Melkor’s eyes, a hint of true happiness in his smile that had become rare with the passing of the years. Mairon found himself smiling back, a soft, heartfelt smile that only ever surfaced in these moments of easy companionship.

The conversation eventually came to a comfortable lull.

“Will you spend the night?” Melkor asked into the silence; his voice was soft and his smile was so beautiful in the firelight, and the thought of refusing him did not even cross Mairon’s mind.

He followed his master through to the bedroom. The wine had left him a little unsteady on his feet, a little more brazen. He undressed himself with as much grace as he could muster, shamelessly staring as Melkor disrobed in turn and set the iron crown aside on the bedside table.

The sight went straight to Mairon’s cock. He could hardly remember the last time that Melkor had released him from his chastity cage. For months beyond count he had been locked away, increasingly frustrated as Melkor’s attention had slipped from him to more pressing matters. And now, his frustration seemed to transmute into something else, a feverish heat that started beneath his skin and set his cock swelling against the bars of its cage.

Mairon lay back among the pillows, pulling Melkor flush against him, letting his legs fall open about his waist. Melkor kissed him, slow and deep and tender, and Mairon slipped his arms about his shoulders to pull him closer still, grinding his hips up against him. With a growl Melkor’s hand shot downwards, squeezing the metal cage.

“How long have you worn your cage?” Melkor asked once their kiss had ended.

“Months,” Mairon said quickly, trying and failing to contain his excitement; it felt more potent than the wine, addling his thoughts, stripping his composure from him until he was rutting into Melkor’s hand.

“Months…” Melkor echoed, dipping his head to trail open-mouthed kisses down the side of his neck. “I think you deserve a treat, little one.”

Mairon forgot how to breathe. He could do little more than moan and grip into his master’s hair as Melkor kissed his way down his chest, his stomach, lower and lower until his lips brushed against the metal cage.

Mairon’s hips jerked upwards, arching into the touch as if he could simply not get close enough to his master, but Melkor pulled away. His mood palpably shifted, the tenderness replaced by something devious, something purposeful. He raked his eyes down Mairon’s body, looking at him as though he wanted to strip the flesh from his bones just to see what would happen, and Mairon shivered under his gaze.

Abruptly Melkor turned away to rummage in the bedside drawer. One by one he pulled out several items, laying them out on the bedspread so Mairon could see them: a coil of rope, two wooden pegs attached together with a length of string, a vial of oil, and a small key glinting silver in the firelight.

“You planned this,” Mairon said, eyes narrowing as he met Melkor’s gaze.

Melkor did not immediately reply. He picked up the rope and the pegs, and Mairon let him bind his wrists to the headboard, let him clip a peg to each nipple. The wood bit into his skin, a mild, teasing hurt that made his breath quicken. His cock was already stiff in its cage, desire swirling in his belly hot and heady until he could think of little else except the wonder of Melkor’s skin against his own.

Melkor then reached for the key. Slowly, slowly, so infuriatingly slowly he unlocked the cage from the thick metal cuff at the base of Mairon’s bollocks, sliding the cage free but leaving the cuff behind. Mairon’s cock sprang upwards towards his belly, achingly hard and flushed a deep, dusky pink with his need; Melkor openly stared but made no move to touch him.

“I did plan this, yes,” Melkor admitted, voice husky with lust; he popped open the vial of oil, liberally slicking his fingers.

Mairon glowered, feeling vaguely offended. “Why?”

Melkor threw him a wicked grin, and Mairon decided that he did not truly care why Melkor had planned this. All that mattered was that Melkor was touching him again, slipping his fingers between his thighs, brushing against his entrance. Mairon yanked on his bonds just to feel the rope chafe against his wrists, to stoke the desire burning in his stomach. A noise somewhere between a moan and a growl escaped his lips as Melkor twisted two fingers inside of him, and Melkor chuckled at his obvious need, low and indulgent and irresistible.

“You should see yourself like this,” Melkor murmured, curling his fingers just so, reaching up to gently tug on the string linking the pegs on his nipples. “You fall apart into this moaning, shivering, beautiful mess and it suits you so well. It’s like you were made for this, my loyal lieutenant craving my touch like a bitch in heat.”

Melkor’s words were filthy, but there was no trace of mockery in his voice; only hunger, greedy and ferocious, and underneath it a quiet sort of reverence. He watched Mairon’s face with a strange intensity, and like one in a trance Mairon held his gaze, rolling his hips into the rhythmic motion of his fingers.

After so long without stimulation, the pleasure of it was blinding, intoxicating; Mairon panted, he shuddered, every muscle in him trembling as he crept closer and closer to the edge, and he threw his head back in sheer bliss as his orgasm gripped him.

But Melkor suddenly withdrew his fingers, and before Mairon could draw breath to protest, he ripped the pegs off his nipples. A scream tore from Mairon’s throat at the flash of pain across his chest. His seed spurted up onto his own stomach, but whatever faint pleasure there was in it rapidly bleached away, not enough, _not enough_.

“Please,” Mairon begged, shaky and desperate, the last remnants of his composure cracking utterly; Melkor had always had an uncanny ability to knock right through his pride, his self-control, every single piece of his carefully constructed façade, and now more than ever with the long months of his enforced chastity gnawing at him. “Please, my lord, I’ll do anything you want, just –”

“No.”

A heartfelt curse slipped from Mairon’s lips before he could stop himself. With a snort of amusement, Melkor pushed himself upwards to lie next to Mairon, propping his head up on one hand.

“Such foul language, Mairon,” he chided, without real heat; his fingers trailed light and teasing over Mairon’s chest, scratching over his ribs, tracing the tense muscles of his abdomen.

“Sorry, my lord,” Mairon said, not sounding apologetic in the slightest.

He glared up at Melkor, who responded with an entirely too self-satisfied smirk. Melkor’s fingers wandered lower still, wrapping around his cock, and Mairon’s glare instantly dissipated into a grimace. The sensation exploded through him in waves of pain, his cock left over-sensitive by months of chastity and his previous orgasm.

“It hurts,” he said, inwardly cringing as his voice came out more as a whine than anything else; he tried to squirm away, but there was nowhere for him to go with his hands tied above his head.

Melkor leaned in close as if to kiss him. “I know.”

His hand started gliding over him in a loose fist, slow and light, over and over again until Mairon was keening. It did not take long for his cock to stiffen again, aching with every pass of Melkor’s fingers, throbbing in his palm. Mairon felt raw, he felt like his skin would slip free of his bones. He tilted his head upwards, slamming his lips against Melkor’s own with less passion than violence, all tongue and teeth.

Melkor seemed pleased with his fervour. As Mairon’s teeth closed over his lower lip, drawing blood, he moaned into his mouth, he gripped his cock all the more firmly and started rubbing maddening little circles over the tender flesh just below his tip. It was agonising, it was exquisite; Mairon broke away from the kiss, throwing his head back, sweaty and quivering.

“Oh fuck, please, my lord, I – _yes_ –”

Melkor hummed deep in his chest, dipping his head, gliding his tongue over his nipple. For the second time that night, Mairon felt that telltale clench of muscles, and he gasped, he panted, hips nearly arching off the bed as he ground his cock into Melkor’s palm.

For one glorious moment his orgasm crashed through him, blistering and wondrous all at once. But then Melkor pulled away from him, not touching him at all, and Mairon _screamed_ ; his cock twitched uselessly, splattering seed over his stomach, his pleasure bleeding into nothing but dark, hurting frustration.

“That’s not fair,” Mairon muttered as soon as he was able to speak, scowling up at Melkor. He knew he sounded like a petulant child, but he was too far gone to bite back his resentment.

“I said you could have a treat,” Melkor told him, unable or unwilling to keep the amusement out of his voice, and Mairon’s scowl deepened. “I did not say what that treat would involve.”

Mairon huffed out a frustrated breath. He tried to hold on to his anger: for weeks beyond count he had remained chaste per his master’s orders, he had worked tirelessly to prepare Angband for the upcoming battle; the least Melkor could do was set aside his sadistic games for one night. 

But Melkor reached for him again, and Mairon’s entire being seemed to rearrange itself around the brush of Melkor’s skin against his own; his anger forgotten, yearning swelling inside his chest until he could hardly breathe.

Melkor ran his fingers through the messy streaks of seed Mairon had left on his own stomach, and then pressed them to his lips. Mairon automatically opened his mouth, letting Melkor stroke his own taste far back along his tongue.

“Good boy,” Melkor said, watching him swallow his own seed, leaning in to kiss the excess off his lips.

Mairon moaned into their kiss, soft and desperate, and Melkor reached up to undo the rope from around his wrists. Despite himself, despite everything Melkor had ever done to him, it was with hope that he rolled over onto his stomach at Melkor’s command; surely Melkor had had his fill of his suffering for one night.

But Melkor’s grip on his hips was hungry, bruising, pulling him close, forcing his back to arch. His fingers were rough around his wrists as he yanked his arms out from underneath him, tying them behind his back with the rope. 

He was getting impatient, Mairon could tell. He poured too much oil over himself and it splattered over the backs of Mairon’s thighs, and when he pressed up inside of Mairon, it was too fast, too rough. 

Mairon forced himself to breathe through the pain of the stretch. He pushed himself back into Melkor’s thrusts, drawing a growl from his lips; he let himself moan loud and wrecked into the pillows with every slide of Melkor’s cock deep inside of him, let his muscles clench so hard that for a moment Melkor’s rhythm faltered. The millennia spent at his master’s side had taught him just how to make Melkor lose himself in a haze of pleasure and he used it to his advantage; if pleading would not serve him here, then let Melkor fuck him, use him to chase his own release, and perhaps he would be too distracted to ruin yet another one of his orgasms.

But Melkor had other ideas. He slowed down, burying himself as deep as he could go and rocking Mairon against the covers. The head of his cock rammed into Mairon’s prostate on every thrust, hard, _harder_ , and Mairon grunted, eyes rolling back into his head. Dazzling light burst across his vision as Melkor slammed inside of him to the hilt, he felt warm and full and _used_ , and in that moment he simply melted into it. Whether or not Melkor would ruin him again was a distant thought, hazy and inconsequential, paling in comparison to how perfectly their bodies slotted together, the moment stretching on and on as if nothing else had ever existed in the world.

He hardly noticed Melkor reaching around to take him in hand. He groaned at the touch, the head of his cock glistening raw and crimson as Melkor stroked him in time with his thrusts. It was a sensation beyond pain, beyond pleasure, white-hot intensity sparking through his nerves. He could not possibly be hard again, but he _was_ ; his cock ached and twitched and pulsed in his master’s hand, Melkor split him apart with one wrenching thrust, and all at once it became too much.

Mairon came, a violent, hurting orgasm, and even as his mouth fell open in a scream, the pleasure was ripped away from him. With implacable cruelty Melkor withdrew his hand, slipping out from between his thighs. Mairon trembled and panted, he tried to press his hips back into his master, _anything_ to fill the sudden emptiness inside of him _;_ but Melkor would not touch him again. Faint pleasure blossomed in his belly but was extinguished almost immediately, and in its wake there was only hurt, and thwarted arousal burning like a brand inside of him.

Seed spurted over his arse as Melkor finished himself off. He groaned deep in his throat as he came, luxuriating in his release, and the sound made tears of frustration prickle at the corners of Mairon’s eyes.

Mairon blinked once, twice, refusing to let the tears fall. He remained pliant as Melkor unknotted the rope from around his wrists, as he guided him into a sitting position and handed him a cloth to wipe himself clean. 

He felt like someone had taken a knife to him and peeled him open; his body ached with how violently Melkor had fucked him, and his cock throbbed and hurt and drooled, and still he yearned for Melkor’s touch as if it was the only thing that could make him whole. He wanted to scream till his throat was raw, he wanted to grab Melkor and refuse to leave his bed until his master allowed him to come, a proper orgasm, something that would give him the deep sense of satisfaction that he craved.

But he knew that Melkor had made his decision, and that it was final.

His heart sank when saw Melkor picking up the metal cage again.

“Please don’t, my lord,” he said, horror settling like a boulder in his stomach; the tears finally came, rolling hot and heavy down his cheeks. “I can’t do this.”

Melkor took his face in his hands, pulling him into a kiss, and his touch was so gentle that Mairon felt something huge and nameless swelling in his chest.

“You can and you will do this,” Melkor said, drawing back from their kiss, “because that is what I am commanding of you.”

Mairon could only sob as Melkor forced his aching, dripping cock back into its cage. He hated this and he loved it in equal measure, to be controlled, to be debased so utterly; there was something in the way Melkor touched him in these moments, all adoring and hungry and possessive, that sent his heart lurching in his chest.

He let Melkor draw him down among the pillows, let him pull him into his chest. As they lay there beneath the covers, listening to the storm outside, Melkor wrapped his fingers around the cage almost lovingly, holding him as though he were something precious, something to be forever kept under lock and key.


End file.
